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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-04
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2004-11-13
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9,413
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7/7
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M7/Sentinel Xover: Kicihmuga

Summary:

Crossover with Susan Fosters GDP Series.
I wrote this with another author by the name of Serena Silver.

Characters: Vin Tanner/Ezra Standish

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Desperation

Chapter Text

DISCLAIMER: I do not claim any rights over the Magnificent 7 or Sentinel characters used in this story, which has been written for the joy of writing only. Susan Foster is the woman who has created this AU and has kindly gave me and my co-writer permission to write in it.

AUTHOR NOTE: Kicihmuga means "Bewitch each other".

The story can also be read at the following URL: hhttp://www.lonetreecp.org/LWFicholm/TStories/m7gdp/kicihmuga01.htm

Check out my other stories by following this URL: http://www.lonetreecp.orgi

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25 YEARS BEFORE SENTINEL 101

Chapter 1: Desperation

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The young mother sagged weakly against the locked door of the used '72 Ford Chrysler. She whimpered, nearly stumbling while dragging an overly stuffed suitcase, slim hip jammed against the trunk.

"Lord, please--", she begged, jerking her head toward the sudden noise as her tiny one, tucked into a hospital blanket woke, crying, stuffed against the car-seat cushions.

"I'm comin', sweet thing," she groaned, smoothing loosened blonde tendrils back behind her ear. She clicked the trunk lid down. Just a suitcase, a jack, and a spare? That's all? Lord Gawd, how pitiful.

The incisions from the caesarian strained as she bent over, tender and exhausted from lugging her burden. She slumped from the ache needling her, right in her middle. "I'll be right there, swee' pea," she crooned, flinging her handbag on the hood. Wiping mist from her eyes, she found keys, slid them in the lock, and crawled knees-first behind the steering wheel.

The baby's rosebud lips quivered and tiny little fists beat against the thin white blanket. He puckered up his lips and began wailing. "Oh, baby boy," she murmured, scooping him up in her arms. "There, there, li'l darlin'," she smiled, kissing his sweet brow.

He rested quietly, confidently, against Mother's bosom. He nestled in her arms until his drowsy green eyes drooped in sleep.

"Be a good li'l boy for Mother, now," she whispered, settling him down again in the seat, bolstered on each side by pillows. "Mother's good baby," she praised, tickling his dimples. The baby settled into sleep.

She made sure that her wallet was in her bag she'd flung on the floorboard; it was all the money she'd managed to retrieve from her hiding place: the fake bottom of her aerosol hairspray can. Her cache of savings was poorly depleted from spending it last night on this plain, ugly, but serviceable car.

She'd known a friend of a friend of a cousin, who'd made her a no-questions-asked trade-in deal; he'd deftly changed the O into 8 and the F into E on her license plates too, plastering mud over his handiwork, winking at her, daring to rub his slimy hand over hers, pinching her wrist.

"You remember, now," he'd leered at her breasts wolfishly, "bout that favor you'll be owin' me."

The woman combed her hair back with trembling fingers, wrapping it in an elastic ponytail hair band. She doubled her smooth hands into white-knuckled fists. She sat there, wishing for a big strong male chest to sink into, to bury herself in its security. Mother's dreadfully crude adage of shittin' in one hand, wishin' in the other, "just see which one fills up first, gal," came back to her then.

"That's all right," she glared at the torn seat-covers and grimy, bug-splattered windshield. "I'm no quitter. Swear to God, he'll be sorry. I'll make George so goddamned sorry. Oh, he'll regret... no man does this to me... I'll take my revenge when he least expects to see me... and rip off his balls..."

She backed out of the nondescript motel parking lot, drove out of Cascade, Washington, on the interstate heading south to California.

Miss LaRue, her mother's great-aunt, who'd taught her such old-fashioned things, crocheting, hemstitching, baking from scratch, when she'd needed mothering, had retired near the ocean, in some backwater town. "I'll find it," she told herself.

Shaking her head at the long-ago's: Daddy'd come home, paycheck left in the cash register at Flinty's Bar, and Mamma shooin' her out the back door, away from his bellowing and violence. "Nobody remembers you, Miss LaRue, my baby will be safe with you."

A patrolman activated his lights, spurring after a speeder. Those lights, flashing, siren screaming, no-- She'd screamed.

The sun burning her, hurting her eyes. That day, then, no... why can't I forget?

Forget him pushing her knees apart, ripping holes in her panty hose, pressing wet kisses against her closed lips while tearing the collar of her blouse. "NO! George, not this way, I'm not on the pill." Running his hands between her legs, covering her belly; forget his urgent whispering, his demands, "Let me, let me," and she lying there silent against sticky upholstery of the back seat, sun beaming directly in her eyes, legs spread open...permitting the degradation, making her cry and arch against him, hating herself, hating him...

"Stop whining, just stop it, this instant," she longed to scream into the rearview mirror.

Behind Maude Stanton were her dreams of being a famous fashion designer, all dashed to hell by the cruel betrayal of a man. A man who told her that he loved her and wanted to marry her, and help her pursue her career. Instead of that he tore her heart out just as readily as her tore her blouse to fondle her nine months ago. George was a businessman; everything he did was strictly for business.

The business of getting her pregnant so that an empathic child would be born. Then that Goddamned GDP could come in and take her child away from her? "I hope you rot in hell," she bared her teeth at the road hog that swooped into her lane. "I'm not a brood mare, you bastard. Nobody's taking my baby boy. Nobody. I'll depend on myself. I'm keepin' you--I'll kill to keep you. Nobody will ever hurt you, little Ezra, the way they... he... did your mamma."

Drying tear streaks left tracks on her pale cheeks as her angry blue eyes were fixed on the traffic along the interstate. She patted the child's cheek gently, as she told him, "Don't you worry one whit, Ezra. You're mine. Won't let them get you. I am going to teach you to be strong, so strong you won't need anyone. Not even me."